


Good Morning

by tielan



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: D/s, F/M, Porn Battle, Sex, Submission, relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-13
Updated: 2012-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-31 02:30:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/338902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn't ask. Asking was for last night, for yesterday afternoon: the ‘are you sures’, the ‘do you reallys’, and the ‘would you pleases’. This morning she’s naked and in his bed and wet under his hands and willing when he pushes her down and takes her hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Morning

**Author's Note:**

> For the Porn Battle XIII, prompt Sam Carter/Jack O'Neill, morning.

Sam wakes to the fierce grip of gun-calloused hands in the cold grey of a DC winter morning.

“Jack?”

His name is lost in a kiss, long and deep and smooth, while long fingers get busy on her body. When she comes up for air, Sam’s panting hard - and Jack’s just hard.

He doesn’t ask. Asking was for last night, for yesterday afternoon, the ‘are you sures’, the ‘do you reallys’, and the ‘would you pleases’. This morning she’s naked and in his bed and wet under his hands and willing when he pushes her down and takes her hard.

Sam can’t say she never thought about this in all the years they worked together. Sam can’t say she never fantasised about it - although she was careful not to do it too often. A little bit of fantasy could easily become too much reality, and they had too much to lose if things went bad.

Things never went bad.

And now that they’re no longer in the direct chain of command, now that he’s at Homeworld Security and she’s in the SGC, there’s a certain amount of distance that makes this intimacy...easier.

There’s nothing easy about the pace Jack sets - long, deep strokes that shove her into the mattress as he pins her hands over her head. And a psych would have a field day with Sam’s psyche considering she’s wet as the ocean and loving every second of being fucked out of her mind by the man who used to give her orders in the field.

His breath pants in her ear; Sam can barely hear him over the beat of blood in her veins - she wants, she wants, she aches, she begs... And Jack laughs with that soft huff of breath and reaches one hand down between them to tug on her clit - just rough enough to send her into a tailspin.

There’s no stopping as her body convulses, no easing up against her sensitive flesh. His strokes continue although he’s begun to shake with the nearness of release. His hands have come down to push at her shoulders, to hold her close, and Sam writhes under his hips, still blind and deaf and dumb to anything but Jack O’Neill in her, and the passion that binds them together in these fragmentary moments.

He grunts - another soft huff of breath - and his movements slow, easing the pace, softening the thrust, until they’re just rocking against each other, quite done, but not quite done until they fall still.

When they do, Sam feels thoroughly used, thoroughly fucked, and thoroughly sexy.

“Good morning, Carter.”

His smirk is a beautiful thing. Sam grins back, even as she remembers that her hands are no longer pinned above her head, and brings them down to wrap around his neck.

“Is it, sir?”

He grins and his hands settle comfortably on her body.

“Oh, it definitely is.”


End file.
